


color me whole

by frougge



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Just. Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, and maybe thats what theon and robb deserve, this is just. very soft because that's the mood for today
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-28 00:02:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15696087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frougge/pseuds/frougge
Summary: Theon paints, holding his brush steadily as he lets color consume the white canvas; splashes of red, swirling like the sea, on a background of grey. He’s had barely any time to do this for the past few months, what with all the preparations going on, but he’s feeling a bit nervous and nothing’s calmed him more than painting.Except for, maybe, the thrill of arching an arrow and watching as it struck bullseye, the feeling of his mother’s hand pressed against his cheek or the way Robb held hands with him, squeezing softly every so often.





	color me whole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [joonswig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joonswig/gifts), [LittlePrinceCyanide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlePrinceCyanide/gifts), [tofugumball](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofugumball/gifts).



> i had this sitting in my drafts for some time and managed to finish it today,,, so here u go !!

Theon paints, holding his brush steadily as he lets color consume the white canvas; splashes of red, swirling like the sea, on a background of grey. He’s had barely any time to do this for the past few months, what with all the preparations going on, but he’s feeling a bit nervous and nothing’s calmed him more than painting.

Except for, maybe, the thrill of arching an arrow and watching as it struck bullseye, the feeling of his mother’s hand pressed against his cheek or the way Robb held hands with him, squeezing softly every so often.

It’s late and he should be getting to sleep—especially considering the events of the next day—but his nerves pool at the bottom of his stomach and he’s unable to close his eyes for more than a few minutes. He knows that they’re mostly irrational, knows that there’s no reason for them, but.

He’s lucky enough that he’s had a fresh canvas stocked away—all the other ones in the house were already painted on, paintings of Robb or of the city of or of nothing in particular, done by Theon when he’d gotten good enough to not feel embarrassed about his work anymore. He could have turned to drawing; his supplies might have been unused over the past few months, but they were stocked up safely in his desk, ready for use. Still, painting is much more calming and there’s no denying that as he mixes colors and watches blues turn into purples and reds into oranges, soft and steady.

He dips his brush in water, absentmindedly swirling it before dipping it in a light blue that he could have used to paint the sky had he set up earlier. A light blue that reminds him of Robb’s eyes, now that the sky is dark and the moon is hanging low over him.

Theon glances at the clock to find that he probably should be getting to bed, but he still feels unease digging its claws into him. He’d like to talk to Robb before tomorrow, since he’ll doubt they’ll have much time, but Robb’s already asleep and he’d feel bad waking him up.

It’s—Sansa’ll show up first thing in the morning, probably, and he doesn’t expect any less of her. Catelyn and Jon will show up early as well, he’s sure, and the thought of it alone makes him withhold a groan. He can certainly think of more pleasant things to do than to have to wake up early and deal with everyone.

(The fact that they’re doing this all for him and Robb, though, makes him feel warm, makes him want to smile and makes him feel good, soft, _loved._ He’d never admit it, of course; he’s got an image to hold up, after all.)

He wonders, off-handedly, what he would have done if the Starks hadn’t been so eager to take him in, to treat him as family. Wonders what would have become of him, wonders if he’d still meet all of them one way or another, if they would find their way into his life anyway. He thinks they would—the Starks are like that, each and every single one of them. It makes them completely insufferable, sometimes, but he’s come to find it endearing somewhere along the way.

“Hey,” he hears, a soft voice that cuts through his thoughts and can belong to no one but Robb. He feels a hand linger on his shoulder and lips brush against his ear before he set his brush down in the cup and turns to face Robb. “Nervous?”

“Mhm,” Theon hums in response, letting himself reach out and touch Robb, almost as if making sure he was real and tangible and not a figment of his imagination. “A bit,” he admits, licking his lips.

“I hope it’s not because you forgot to write your vows,” Robb says and he’s smiling—soft, a bit sleep-ridden, the kind of smile reserved just for him. It makes Theon’s heart flutter in his chest and _oh,_ he’s so lucky to have him. “That’d be a bit embarrassing.”

“No, you ass,” he says, lacking any bite as he lets Robb intertwine their fingers together. “Just—you know.”

“Yeah,” Robb says, “yeah.” He pauses for a moment or two, cocks his head to the side and adds, “mostly I’m excited, though.”

He’s smiling still—a smile that lights up his whole face, that contrasts with the tangled curls on his head that Theon’s sure will give Sansa migraines as she tries to style it the next day. Theon smiles back, although he’s sure his smile pales in comparison to Robb’s, as many things do.

There’s just—something good about Robb, something that makes him seem like the sun, something that makes him so pure in everything that he does, almost naive in it but not quite so. Something that makes Theon sure he’d give all just to make Robb smile like that, because of _him_ , even if just one more time.

“God,” he says, suddenly overcome with feeling as he feels his heart pound against his chest, as he feels it spew everything he feels for Robb all through his body, as he feels his fingers almost shake at the bare intensity of it, and—“I really love you, you know.”

Theon knows, vaguely, that he doesn’t say it enough; knows that Robb would never hold that against him. It’s partly because of his family, in which affection had been so rare that he doesn’t think he heard Asha tell him those words even once—she shows it in other ways, though, in small actions and gestures that he stores away and appreciates, but— _but_ there’s something in hearing someone say so explicitly that they love him that he can’t quite place.

And Robb—Robb does it often, when he first wakes and the sun shines into his eyes or when Theon hands him a cup of coffee or when he comes home and the words spill from his lips effortlessly.

“I love you, too,” he says, now, and there’s such a fond look in his eyes that Theon could cry. Robb squeezes his hand, just barely, and Theon revels in the feeling. “Let’s go back to bed.”

(Theon can do nothing but agree, his nerves long forgotten and replaced by the anticipation of being able to call Robb his husband by this time the next day instead.) 

**Author's Note:**

> hope u enjoyed!!!


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